


Something More Than Love

by MisfitWriter



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, rosvolio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-09 20:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisfitWriter/pseuds/MisfitWriter
Summary: Following immediately after the series finale, Verona has to face the impending attack while Benvolio and Rosaline have to face everything that has happened between them.





	1. Chapter 1

Rosaline watched with growing fear as Escalus was able to carry less and less of his own weight.  Benvolio did the best that he could, but she could read the strain in his face.  She looked around, and as soon as she laid eyes on a man not rushing out into the fray Rosaline grabbed him to direct his assistance to the Prince.  They made it into the safety of the Palace rather quickly from there, and they were ushered into a room with a large table - and Isabella. 

“Escalus! Oh, please be careful...Escalus, speak to me,” Isabella pleaded.  Benvolio eased the Prince into the care of ready physicians and sighed lightly when he stepped back.  Rosaline spared him a glance before following the physicians, hovering just out of the way, watching desperately as they began to work.  Isabella hurried to her side, grasp tight as it came around her forearm.  The sting of her nails pressing through her sleeve served to ground Rosaline, and she took a slow, steadying breath.

“The wound is not mortal, Your Grace...so long as we are able to stave off infection, he will heal,” the physician assured.  “We have much work still to do, it may be best if you await further news-”

“ _ Absolutely _ not!” Isabella snapped.  As she responded to the physician, Rosaline found herself lightheaded with relief, and turned...to witness the door closing behind Benvolio.  With a soft gasp, she hurried out after him.

“Benvolio,” she called.  He turned immediately, as though her voice were a tether, and reality crashed over her with infinitely more force than she was prepared for.  He was  _ alive _ .  Benvolio Montague was  _ alive! _ With a sob of relief, she threw herself into his arms.  Benvolio caught her with a low hiss, but when she tried to pull away he simply tightened his arms around her.  “You are hurt.”

“I am in far better health than I expected to be ten minutes ago,” he breathed into her ear, the corner of his smile pressing against its helix.  A near-hysterical giggle bubbled up in Rosaline’s chest, and she pressed her face into his neck.  His pulse thrummed against her skin, an overwhelming comfort that left tears streaming down her cheeks.  “I am alright, dear Capulet.  Thanks to  _ you _ .”  He drew back far enough to cradle her face in both hands, and brushed her tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

Rosaline covered his hands with her own and gave him a watery smile.  “I was so sure you were lost...I...I could no longer fathom a life without you in it.”

“Oh how far we’ve come,” he teased lightly.  For a moment Rosaline could pretend that chaos was not raining down on their city in the form of arrows from masked men.  For a moment, she could pretend that the kisses they’d shared were not through the bars of a cell...that when they’d left Verona, they’d kept going and had managed to escape the iron grip of their God-forsaken responsibilities as heirs to their respective Houses.

And yet, the continued screams and moans outside of the palace proved that their city still burned around them.  “W-where are you going?” Rosaline whispered, afraid to hear his response.

The soft sigh and press of his forehead against hers confirmed her worry.  A heavy weight settled into the pit of her stomach.  “I cannot hide away while so many fight for their lives...for our  _ city _ .”

Pride warred with panic as the possible outcomes flashed across her mind.  “You have been through enough at Verona’s hands.   _ Please _ , Benvolio…you need to rest.”

“If I were to cower in fear now, I would not be true to my nature...nor would I be a man worthy of your respect.  Stay with the Princess, with the  _ Prince _ ...stay  _ safe _ .  I fear we will have far worse battles ahead when Paris returns...Her Grace will need someone beside her to support her until the Prince is able to reassure her himself.”  He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.  “God has spared me thus far in this bloody war...have faith that He will not have brought me this far to see me cut down now.”

Rosaline squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sounds from outside, to return to that fleeting moment of make-believe.  “Come back to me, Benvolio,” she pleaded.  He held her gaze for a long moment, the unspoken promise to determine exactly what they are to one another following his return clear in his eyes.  He lifted her left hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, before bowing gracefully and turning away.  Unable to watch him step out into danger once more, Rosaline turned and hurried back into the room where Isabella visibly fought to maintain composure and Escalus writhed in pain as the physician worked to seal his wound.  Powerless and terrified, Rosaline grasped Isabella’s hands and began to pray.

\-----

By the time he returned, Escalus was resting and Rosaline was half-mad with worry.  “You seem troubled, Capulet.”  Rosaline gasped from her seat near the door and surged to her feet.  Benvolio chuckled lightly as her hands skimmed along his arms.  “I am fine,” he assured.

The exhaustion clear in his tone drew her eyes to his face, and she narrowed them at him.  “ _ Fine _ , is it, Montague? You  _ left  _ beaten and exhausted, and now you sway where you stand! You may as well be a shade, your skin is so pale, and-”

“I am  _ well enough _ , Rosaline.”  His hands were steady on her shoulders, and his eyes were alight with affection despite the tension in his face.  “I was not injured further...I simply need rest.  As do you; I imagine you have not slept since the inn, and that hardly counted as adequate.”

“Mateo will show you to rooms where you can sleep, and guards will stand at your doors.  Word has come of a terrible army, wearing the livery of the Mantua royal family, two day’s ride from here.  We have sent for assistance from Venice...but I fear both of you will be needed again before Verona finds peace,” Isabella offered solemnly from beside Rosaline.  

“Once we were able to rally the Guard, the attackers in the square were subdued easily enough.  It would be foolish to assume they were the only threat within the walls.  Paris and Lady Capulet have been far too meticulous leading to this to have only a handful of supporters already here.” He turned to Rosaline.  “What of Livia?”  Tears filled her eyes at the mention of her sister, but the Princess spoke first.

“Allow our men to handle the threat for now, Signor Montague. I have already sent them out to gather support from all Houses, and to seek aid from our allies in Venice. As you said yourself, both of you are in desperate need of rest.  Livia eloped with Count Paris...for now, she may be the safest person in Italy.  Once you return, we will determine how best to rescue her.”  Isabella nodded to Mateo, who gestured for Benvolio and Rosaline to follow.  

Rosaline tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they left the room with a final glance to their Royals.  She knew Isabella spoke truth...Paris would not marry his sister only to harm her the following day; even if he had a plan for her, it would not likely be addressed until after the battle for Verona.  She could not act on her worry for Livia at that moment, and would be useless to do anything later without finally getting some sleep.

_ “Benvolio!” _

The arm in her grasp tensed, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Lord Montague step into the palace.  Benvolio did not outwardly react to his uncle’s call, and Rosaline shook her head sharply when the elder Montague moved to follow.  Without hesitating she leaned into his shoulder and slid her arm around his back to guide him on.  His jaw clenched repeatedly, and she caught the shine of tears in his eyes even as he refused to look down at her.  They remained silent until she was sure Lord Montague was out of earshot.

“Mateo...is there a guest room with a chaise as well?” Rosaline asked softly.  Benvolio finally stared down at her.

“Capulet…”

“If your hesitation is about my virtue, you’ll recall the conversation we had at the abbey.  My virtue was brought into question enough already...this would hardly be the time for it to be threatened.”  Mateo watched her with a raised brow, looked Benvolio over for a long moment, and nodded.  He led them to a large suite with a bed and a chaise, and paused at the door for them to enter.  Ben shuffled past him, but Rosaline hesitated before the Prince’s steward.  

“I’ll not speak of this to anyone, Lady Rosaline, rest assured.”  Tears filled her eyes unbidden, and she wrote them off to her exhaustion, and not surprise and immeasurable relief.  

“Thank you Mateo.”  

“It is a relief to know that you are safe, milady.”  Mateo bowed respectfully.  “I will be here along with the Royal Guard if you need anything.”

Rosaline nodded and bade him goodnight before closing the door.  Benvolio hovered in the center of the room, watching her with weary eyes.  She wondered if he even realized how he was listing slightly to the side, practically asleep on his feet.  “You risk further rumor and speculation, Rosaline…”

“I care not what people might speculate...they also  _ speculated _ that you are a murderer and a kidnapper despite my protestation.  Besides...if they believe either of us to be in the state or presence of mind to...tarnish my virtue, they are fools indeed.”  Benvolio smirked, and she stepped into his space.  “I allowed you to walk back into danger once already, and I am aware that you will have to do so again, far sooner than I shall be prepared.  But for now...for now I do not dare let you out of my sight.”

Tenderness warmed his features as Benvolio reached up to stroke her cheek. She leaned into his touch, cherishing what she’d been so close to losing forever.  “I will remain by your side so long as I am able.”

Without another word, Rosaline slid her hand into his and tugged him towards the bed.  He hesitated and glanced towards the chaise,  _ ever the gentleman _ .  “I trust you,” she reminded him, her words little more than a breath between them.  This time, he followed without resistance as she nudged him to sit on the mattress, eyes following her silently as she knelt before him to remove his boots.  As soon as they were off she rose and toed off her own shoes and moved around to the other side of the bed.

Settling onto her side, facing the man who had so thoroughly turned her life on it’s head, Rosaline was overcome with a peace she wasn’t sure she’d ever known.  She reached out for his hand, sliding her fingers between his when he offered them, and watched with an affectionate smile as he swiftly lost the battle to stay awake.  Benvolio, once a man she’d sworn to hate, had proven himself to be her truest friend.  Even when they loathed to be in the same room, even as he would toss biting words and anger her way (and she would readily do the same for him), he was ever honest and genuine towards her.  When all else in her life was uncertain, when the man she loved used her feelings to manipulate her, Rosaline knew that Benvolio Montague had not  _ ever _ hidden his true motives, his true heart from her.  

Day by day, he’d broken down the assumptions she’d made about his character.  In a thousand little glimpses, the true heart of the man before her was pieced together, and when he’d come to her begging for help, she knew it was worth the risk... _ he _ was worth the risk. And as she agreed to go with him, she opened her own heart to him for the first time.  It wasn’t until she was forced to face her failure, though, that she truly understood how deeply he’d woven into her being.  Hearing him encourage her to go to Escalus...what she’d wanted  _ so desperately _ not long ago...to leave him to his fate, to  _ abandon him _ as so many others had done already, revealed the gaping hole his death would leave in her life; an ache far greater than she’d felt from Escalus’s betrayal after the Feast.

She was not surprised by the horrible dreams that plagued her as she slept...replaying of Benvolio’s execution where Escalus did not change his mind and Benvolio was lost.  Rosaline woke with a cry, drawn back to awareness by warm hands on her cheeks.

“You are safe, Rosaline, all is well.”  His breath hitched when she pressed herself against his chest, desperate for a more  _ solid _ assurance of his presence.  Strong arms enveloped her and a tender kiss pressed to her forehead.  “I have you.”

“I lost you,” she whimpered.  “In my dream...it was not enough.”

“Hush, Capulet,” Benvolio murmured as he tightened his hold on her.  “I only still  _ live _ because you were  _ more _ than enough.  It was only a dream, and I am here with you.  Sleep.”  He made no move to loosen his grip, and Rosaline had even less desire to push him away.  Instead, she fisted her hands in his tunic and settled comfortably against his chest, soothed back to sleep by his steady breaths and the warmth of his body.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me that it took so long to get this part out...life got abruptly crazy this week, and I had very little time to write. And let me tell you, I've missed it. So so much. 
> 
> So I hope you like this part. It turned out very differently than I planned, but I kinda like the difference. Let me know what you think?

Awareness returned to Benvolio slowly; he knew not how long he’d slept, only that it was not  _ nearly _ long enough.  His body ached, and the sweet call of sleep tried to draw him in once more. He very nearly obeyed...until he opened his eyes to the overwhelming beauty of Rosaline Capulet, still wrapped in his arms.

Propriety would have him distance himself from her immediately.  Propriety would have him wake her, apologize, and remove himself from her presence.  Well... _ propriety _ would not have seen them sharing a bed to begin with, but he was not one to deny the earnest request of his betrothed.  

_ Formerly _ betrothed.  Now that so much had happened, it would stand to reason that the Prince would end the betrothal; likely already  _ had _ .  This would be the only opportunity Benvolio had to see his beloved such: untouched by the worry and cruelty of their lives, vulnerable, serene.  He could not resist the temptation to reach out and trace the lines of her jaw, as if to commit them to memory for drawing or painting once they return to some semblance of normalcy...once she is surely whisked away from him forever.

A soft hum alerted the young Montague to Rosaline’s own return to waking, and her warm eyes fluttered open slowly.  As he watched, a myriad of emotions played across her face, most too quickly for him to identify.  Just as he began to wonder if she regretted lying beside him, though, she settled on undeniable contentment.  “Benvolio…” Her gentle smile grew when he simply made a noise of acknowledgement, eyes returning to his fingers as they moved into her hair.  “You are still here.”

“It will not be willingly that I abandon this moment with you, Rosaline,” he admitted, surprised by his own candidness.  “Not when we have at last found a moment of peace from all of it.”

“All of what?” Her tease was little more than an exhale; she knew as well as he  _ what  _ they deserved peace from.

“Besides...the moment we step back into the presence of our Sovereigns, everything will change.  The Prince will not likely allow our lives to continue as they had been going.”  Rosaline’s face fell, and she reached out to place her palm against his cheek.  Benvolio nuzzled into her touch, grief tightening his chest.

“And if the direction our lives had been taking were the direction I wished to pursue?”

Hope warred with helplessness, and he drew her closer to press a kiss to her forehead.  “My heart is yours, dearest Rosaline...but we have been subjected to the Prince’s command once before.  We do not know what he will do once this war is over...if we survive.”

The soft candlelight reflected in the sheen of her tears before she closed her eyes and pulled him against her for a desperate kiss.  It took Benvolio only the space of a heartbeat to surrender himself to her whim; as she led, he followed, teeth clashing near-painfully as both grew more hungry.  Rosaline pulled at him, guiding him to hover over her on the mattress.  Benvolio hesitated, soaking in the sight beneath him and committing it to memory.  “What is it?” Rosaline questioned, suddenly self-conscious.

“I…” Trepidation threatened to silence Benvolio’s thought, but he refused to allow it.  “I cherish you above everything else in my life, Rosaline Capulet.  I know not what the future holds, but so long as there is breath in my body, I will be at your service...in whatever capacity I am permitted.  As husband and lover,” he breathed, dropping open-mouthed kisses down her neck, grinning as she tilted her chin to provide better access. “Or...as a friend and confidant.”  His heart ached and smile faltered at the thought.  As he pressed his face into the crook of her neck and Rosaline’s hands carded through his hair, Benvolio offered up a prayer that they would be granted the freedom to  _ finally _ be together at the end.  Now that he knew her wishes, he could not fathom returning to a life without her by his side. “I will not truly taint your honor as so many believe I already have.”

Rosaline held him in place for a moment, fingertips gentle along his scalp.  “Even though it could be what ensured our future?”  Benvolio pulled back abruptly and stared at her in shock.  His beloved sent him a bemused look and rolled her eyes.  “Do not tell me the thought has not crossed your mind, Montague.”

What did he ever do to deserve the affection of such a fierce, beautiful woman? “It is not the  _ honest _ answer, Capulet,” he murmured affectionately, settling himself down beside her on the bed.

“Can we not pretend for a moment that you are the scoundrel you were once reputed to be?” Her melancholy smile belied her serious tone, and Benvolio granted himself one more indulgent kiss before removing himself from the bed.

* * *

“We cannot wait any longer for the Venetian support to arrive, Your Grace.  We must prepare for battle.”  Isabella looked up as Mateo entered the room, and then glanced over to Rosaline and Benvolio.  The pair, looking only slightly better rested than when they’d been sent away hours before, were standing alongside the Prince’s bed, conversing quietly with him about rescuing Livia once they won the war.  Benvolio processed the steward’s words first, and straightened.  Rosaline’s eyes widened, and she looked to him with a soft gasp.  Avoiding her gaze altogether, the Montague bowed respectfully to Escalus and then Isabella as he left the room with Rosaline immediately behind him.

A sigh drew Isabella’s attention back to her brother.  His injury forced him away from the fighting, and the Princess could not find it in herself to feel guilty for the relief that brought.  Here, he was safe.  “She loves him,” Escalus muttered.

Isabella leveled a bemused look at him.  “Are you truly surprised, brother, knowing how hard she fought for his freedom?”

* * *

“Benvolio…”

“We have already discussed why I need to go with them, Capulet,” Benvolio murmured, drawing her into a quiet room.

“You are no  _ soldier! _ You…you are an  _ artist!  _ You do not belong in this war,” Rosaline insisted. 

“Artist? I’m hardly an  _ artist _ , and I’ll have you know I am considered one of the best swordsmen in Verona!”

“Oh, so when it is beneficial to you to be humble about your  _ art skill _ -” As she spoke Benvolio’s affectionate grin widened at her petulant grumbling, until he could not contain himself and drew her against his chest for a tender kiss. Rosaline squeaked against his lips, but responded quickly to the embrace.  

This time, no bars separated them.  This time, no guard interrupted as they breathed in one another, explored and tasted and possessed.  Just as before, though, the threat of death loomed over Benvolio’s head, and he knew there was nothing that he could say to ease Rosaline’s worry.  When her tongue traced along his bottom lip, he knew he had to stop before he lost all self-control.  Her fingers tightened their hold on his tunic and she chased his lips until Benvolio reached up to cradle her face in his hands.  The pounding of his heart was so loud in his ears that he was sure she could hear it as well, and when he dropped his forehead to hers, Rosaline released a shuddering breath.  

“Promise me that you will come back safely.”

The childlike plea sparked a deep ache in his chest.   _ I will never lie to her.  That is why she trusts me.   _ He shook his head and watched tears fill her eyes.

“I cannot make such a promise…but I  _ will  _ do everything in my power to see this battle through.”

“I cannot bear the thought of losing you again…”

Benvolio brushed a stray tear from her cheek.  “You, Rosaline Capulet... _ you _ gave me something to fight for.  You were able to see past our prejudices and my reputation to the man buried so deep that I’d forgotten that he even existed.   _ You _ brought him back into the light, and gave me purpose and direction for the first time in a very long time.”

“Be careful, I beg of you.  I have grown rather fond of my fiance.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Benvolio teased with far more gusto than he truly felt.  Before he lost his courage, the Montague pressed a kiss to Rosaline’s knuckles and bowed out of the room.  As he joined the men preparing for battle, Benvolio once again found himself praying fervently.


	3. Chapter 3

As Benvolio brought Silvius to a stop alongside the men prepared to fight for their city, fear and uneasiness weighed heavily in the air.  He could surely appreciate the emotions, as they stared at Paris’s formidable army.  He knew what his task would be in this fight...Escalus had made sure his request was clear without alerting Rosaline, and Benvolio had been eager to carry out the unspoken order.  So much pain had been dealt by the Count’s hands...and he would avenge Livia, Rosaline,  _ Verona _ ...and himself.

The battle began with a cry, and it didn’t take long for the Montague to come face to face with his enemy.  Paris only allowed his surprise to show for a moment before dismounting his steed.  Benvolio followed suit, hand settling easily on the hilt of his sword.  “I must confess, Montague...I am quite surprised to see your head so seamlessly attached to your shoulders.”

“I am sure it must be a disappointment, the first bit of evidence that your plot to overthrow the Prince has failed.”  He finally drew his sword with a confident smirk.

“Failed? Did you overlook the multitudes of men at my command?”  Paris was far more leisurely in drawing his own weapon, gesturing around them with his free hand.

Benvolio grinned, spared from the need to respond by shouts announcing the arrival of the Venetian troops.  The color bled from Paris’s face as they both watched many of his men begin to panic and run.  “Your force is impressive indeed, County...but it does not exceed that of Venice.  Surrender, Paris...your mercenaries are in flight.  The day is Verona’s; throw yourself on your cousin’s mercy, and he will spare your life.”

In lieu of a response, Paris lunged forward with a shout.  Benvolio parried his attack, and so they began.  The Count was a skilled fighter...one to rival the Montague’s own abilities, and it was clear that Paris was of far better health.  Where Benvolio was not yet recovered from days on the run with little food and water, Paris possessed the full strength of a well-rested nobleman.  The other man clearly recognized his weakness as well, and pushed forward with all his might.  

“What have you done with Livia?” Benvolio gritted out as he defended and parried.

“You mean my wife?” Paris sneered.  “She has been delivered safely to Mantua, where she will be protected as I burn your resistance to the ground.”

Benvolio held his own well enough, until Paris caught him across the jaw with a sharp punch.  Before he could fully recover from the hit, fire lanced along his side and he cried out.  Desperation was all that kept him on his feet, was all that gave him the strength to keep fighting.  _ Half a minute of strength, Lord…’tis all I ask. _  With that prayer, Benvolio threw himself at his opponent, catching Paris off-guard and knocking him onto his back.  Even as he clutched at his wounded side with his free hand, Benvolio pressed his blade to the Count’s throat. “Yield.”

Paris laughed bitterly.  “ _ Never _ .”  He snatched up his sword and charged up at him. Benvolio sighed as he reacted instinctively, burying his sword in his opponent’s chest.  Paris crumpled to the ground instantly, and Benvolio was only able to remain on his own feet for a few seconds before weakness drove him to his knees. 

Bone-deep weariness even more overpowering than he’d experienced following his would-be execution left him lightheaded, and Benvolio’s thoughts turned to Rosaline.   _ Forgive me, beloved... _ he’d been so certain that the Lord would spare him, having brought him this far...but perhaps  _ this _ was what he was meant for; perhaps his final task was to eliminate this threat to his fair city.  Darkness crept into the corners of his vision as voices called to him.  A pair of hands braced his shoulders.  “The Prince,” he breathed as he recognized the Capulet crest on the breastplate swimming in his field of view.  “You must tell the Prince...Livia Capulet has been taken to Mantua.”

“You must tell him yourself, Signor Montague.”  Insistent tapping on his cheek annoyed Benvolio enough to draw him back from the brink of unconsciousness.   _ Let me rest… _ “You can rest once the physicians have tended to you.  Come, up.”

With a low groan, Benvolio complied and breathed through the pain as he was eased to his feet.  “You are concerned for my wellbeing,” he panted tiredly, hoping that the Capulet would understand his unspoken question.  The man situated himself securely under Benvolio’s arm, hand settling carefully above his wound.

“There have been whispers amongst the soldiers of an uprising...no complete information to prove that it was truth, but the attack at your betrothal ceremony, and then Gramio’s murder and your disappearance with my cousin? All of it suggested that there was more at play than immediately evident.  I heard word of Rosaline’s claims once you were captured; my cousin and I may no longer be close, but we were friends as children, and her trust in you was enough proof of your innocence for me.  All of this was simply further evidence...and who would I be to allow the hero of Verona, responsible for killing the usurper, to fall?”  

As they limped along, another soldier joined them, this one a Montague that Benvolio vaguely recognized, and gingerly eased himself under Benvolio’s other arm.  The pain served to ground him, no longer threatening to overwhelm him and instead reminding him that he is  _ alive _ .  The soldiers continued to speak, though they seemed to understand he did not have the energy to respond.  Nonetheless, he did his best to listen as they recounted the brief but vicious battle for their city.  While some loyal to Paris continued to fight, without their leader there was no direction, and with the support of the Venetian forces they were easily subdued. Benvolio smiled; his city was safe, Montague and Capulet had indeed come together as they’d hoped, and all that was left for them was to rescue Livia.

* * *

Indescribable joy and relief filled Rosaline as Livia recounted her escape from Mantua.  Her sister had stumbled across the Venetian envoy and was delivered directly to them by Helena, a beautiful blonde noblewoman who had yet to take her eyes off of the Princess.  With their arrival came the assurance that Verona would be victorious; now, the only assurance she needed was the safety of her Montague.  

“Rosaline,” Escalus murmured, reaching for her hand.  She reluctantly let go of her sister and sat at the edge of his mattress and curled her fingers around his.  “Forgive me, my lady...I should have trusted you from the beginning.  Perhaps much of this could have been avoided had I listened to you and given Benvolio an opportunity to defend his innocence.”

“‘Tis not my forgiveness that you need concern yourself with, Your Grace,” Rosaline replied gently.  Now, it mattered very little to her that the Prince recognized his shortcoming in their relationship, but she would not stand for his persecution of Benvolio any longer.

Escalus appeared properly chastised, which brought an affectionate smile to her face.  Rosaline lifted his hand to her lips, and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.  At the same moment, the doors opened and Mateo led three men into the room.  The man in the center sagged slightly in the grasp of the other two, and pain-clouded blue eyes found hers immediately, before dropping to where she still clung to the Prince’s hand.

“Benvolio!” She leapt to her feet and was in front of him him in an instant, hands gently cradling his face.  “You need a physician, where are you hurt?” She cursed his black tunic as she searched his arms and torso, but when her eyes finally fell to the tear at his side, it mattered not that the color masked a bloodstain.  “Get the physician immediately!” 

“Paris has Livia in Mantua,” he explained, eyes begging her to hear his words before he turned his attention to the Prince. “He meant to keep her safe, but we  _ must _ bring her home before word gets back that the Count is dead.”

“P-Paris is dead?”

Livia’s pained, timid voice had Benvolio whipping around, away from Rosaline’s touch and nearly jerking himself free from the hold of the soldiers alongside him.  “Lady Livia! You are safe!” Rosaline forced back tears, overwhelmed with relief, worry, and exasperated affection at his fervent focus on her sister’s safety.  The elder Capulet sister cupped his face once more, drawing his wide-eyed attention back to her.  

“Livia is safe, Prince Escalus and Princess Isabella are safe, Verona is safe.  The time for vigilance has passed, Montague... _ rest _ .  Allow the physicians to treat your wound before you bleed to death and cannot enjoy the victory we have been fighting so desperately for.”  Her light tone belied the fear gripping her heart.  She could only watch as he searched her gaze, finding what she guessed was confirmation that the threat was over...and his strength began to wane before her eyes.  “Get him to the chaise,” Rosaline ordered, sweeping gracefully out of their way and following immediately behind them as they complied. 

Before Rosaline could settle in front of him, though, Livia squeezed her shoulder and slid in around her.  The younger Capulet was quick and gentle as she pulled his tunic away from the wound.  “Forgive me, my lord…” She turned to Rosaline.  “The wound is not deep, Rosaline.  Once the physician is able to bind it, he will simply need rest.” Rosaline exhaled in relief, and moved around beside Livia to watch Benvolio’s face.  The injured man, jaw tight and face strained, turned guarded eyes to her.   _ Why guarded? _

Before she had opportunity to consider his distance, the door behind them opened once more and both Rosaline and Livia were ushered out of the way.  Livia wrapped her arms around her sister, and Rosaline’s heart twisted when Benvolio groaned softly.

* * *

The work of the physician left the Montague trembling with exhaustion.  How long had it been since he’d found  _ real _ rest?  Before the attack on the betrothal ceremony...before Romeo...before  _ Mercutio _ ; nightmares had plagued his rest since his brothers had been torn from him.  Life had been so simple, once.  Before the Capulets. In the chaos, though...Rosaline had been his only constant.  His  _ friend _ , his beloved.

Though not his beloved any longer, it would seem.  When the soldiers had brought him in, Benvolio caught a glimpse of Rosaline kissing the Prince’s hand, affection warming both of their faces.  There had been much time for the two to talk in his absence...and it seemed as though the Prince’s decision had likely been made, and Rosaline had come to accept it.  As he watched them, conversing in hushed voices with the physician’s apprentice, Benvolio was overcome by his body’s demand for rest, and he sank into blissful unawareness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not 100% content with this, but I was anxious to get to the next chapter, so it needed to be finished. please let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

“Now that the coup has been dealt with, we can focus on rebuilding our city.”  The Prince’s low tenor drew Benvolio from sleep.  The Montague pulled in a slow breath, grateful that the twinge of pain at his side had dulled during his respite.  When he finally opened his eyes, it took little time to determine that he’d gotten several hours rest judging by the position of the sun through the window.  Escalus still rested on the bed at the far side of the room, though he’d moved to sit up against the wall.  Isabella, Rosaline and Mateo stood near him, and Benvolio found himself unable to tear his gaze from the woman who had come to mean so much to him.  

As if she could feel his stare, Rosaline turned to him and smiled tenderly when she registered that he was awake.  With a respectful nod to Isabella, she excused herself.  “Are you in pain?” she asked softly, worry bleeding into her expression and hands fluttering out to support him as he eased himself up to sitting.  As soon as there was space, she sat beside him and searched his person with a watchful eye.

“It is manageable, milady.  Have you had opportunity to rest?” 

“I have rested enough;  _ I _ am not the one who fought with Paris...I am not the one who came back wounded.”  Her voice was soft, and Benvolio ached to draw her into his arms.  Even sitting beside him, Rosaline kept a respectful distance between them; he could not deny that it stung, that it may as well have been a canyon between them.  From the moment they stopped trying to hate one another, physical contact had become something natural.  Now, he felt its loss rather acutely.  

“How is Livia?” Rosaline’s face fell, and guilt crashed over him.  Villain or no, this man had clearly won Livia’s heart; Benvolio was familiar with the pain of loving despite the pain they caused.  “Where is she now? I would like to speak with her, if it be possible.”

Rosaline narrowed her eyes at him in confusion, but it did not take long for her to read his intention.  “Surely you know that this is not your fault, Montague?”

“Is it not?  Was it not my blade that ended his life?” Nevermind that he’d tried to give the man a chance to surrender…

“In defense of your own!” Benvolio sighed lightly and eased himself to his feet.  Rosaline did not move, and when he glanced at her, frustration and worry flashed in her rich brown eyes.  There was the fire he missed.  “Where on  _ earth _ are you going?”

“I had hoped to speak to your sister, as I said...but if she is unavailable, I will settle for taking in some fresh air.”  She opened her mouth to protest, so Benvolio held up a hand with an affectionate smile.  “I will be fine, Capulet.  I fear that if I do not stretch my limbs, they will begin to turn to stone.”  He gestured towards the others near the bed.  “Go, it sounds as though there is much planning to do for the future of fair Verona.”  

* * *

 

Rosaline could only watch as Benvolio made his way out into the halls of the palace after bowing as respectfully as his injured body would allow.  Every fiber of her being ached to follow him, but the look in his eyes gave no doubt about his desire to be alone.  Could she truly blame him, after all?  The last time he had been granted true solitude, after all, had been while he awaited his execution.  It only made sense that he would seek a moment to process the fact that he was a free man once more.

Even so, there had also been a distance in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since before they’d fled the city. She herself had been careful to keep a respectful distance between them, until she had  the opportunity to speak to Escalus alone and tell him of her decision, and it worried her that this could be causing Benvolio pain.  With that thought, she pushed to her feet and turned to Isabella.  “Forgive me, Princess...but could I have a moment with His Grace?”

Isabella narrowed her eyes at Rosaline for a moment before nodding to Mateo, and then she was alone with Escalus.  Nervous energy had her wringing her hands until she turned to face the bed and was met with a knowing gaze.  “Escalus…”

“I know, Rosaline.  It’s okay...you owe me no explanation.  Your heart has chosen, that much is clear when you look at him.”  He huffed a sad laugh and his gaze fell to his hands, folded in his lap.  “‘Tis certainly not what I expected, when I first ordered your marriage.  And yet...it is the best I could have hoped for I suppose.   _ Your happiness _ is the best that I could have hoped for.”  Finally his eyes turned back up to her, and her breath caught in her throat.  “Forgive me for taking so long to understand what that meant.”

Tears of gratitude filled her eyes unbidden, and she pressed a kiss to his knuckles.  “You are a good man, Escalus.  These have been trying times for all of us, and you have cared for Verona better than anyone could have hoped.   _ Thank you _ , Your Grace.”

Escalus nodded for the door, giving Rosaline all the encouragement she needed to finally share her heart with the man who already held it.  With a graceful curtsey, the Capulet lady turned and practically ran for the door.  As she passed Isabella and Mateo, she absently registered the secretive smile on her friend’s face, and she found herself wondering just how obvious she’d been in the days since returning to Verona.

Her search for Benvolio was a short one; as she came to turn a corner, his voice drifted to her, but his tone stopped her short; a dark bitterness that she hadn’t heard before.  Before she could call out to him, though, another voice joined him: Lord Damiano Montague. Unsure of Benvolio’s feelings towards her interrupting, she peeked around the corner as Lord Montague wrapped a hand around his nephew’s bicep.  They stood facing one another, Rosaline looking on from the side.  Even though she could only see part of his face, Benvolio’s anger shone clearly in his eyes.

“Unhand me.  You will  _ never _ lay a hand on me again.”  He yanked his arm free, but his shoulders tensed as the movement aggravated his injury.  It took everything in Rosaline to keep herself from reacting.  His uncle withdrew as if struck, eyes dropping to where Benvolio pressed his arm into his wounded side.  “Oh, is that  _ concern _ , Uncle?  Is it sincere, or borne of guilt and shame?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You and I both know that you have never sincerely cared for my wellbeing; now that execution is not looming over my head, your guilt can be assuaged once more.”  _ How much has Benvolio suffered at the hands of this man? _

“Your brush with death has made you bold, nephew.”  

“Amazing, is it not, that all it took was  _ one person _ proving to me that I was worth  _ fighting for _ ?” Surprise lodged her breath in her chest.  Did she really have such an impact on him? 

“Does the servant girl know that you wish to bed her?” Rosaline saw red at his lascivious tone, and she was ready to step out of her hiding place when Damiano came nose to nose with his nephew.  Benvolio was practically vibrating with his own fury, and raised his chin as his uncle challenged him.

“You will _watch your_ _tongue_ when you speak of _Lady_ Rosaline.” Worry for where this conversation might progress drove Rosaline to hurry back to the Prince’s room; Escalus needed to see what this man was doing to his own flesh and blood.  Enough was _enough_.

* * *

Benvolio could not bring himself to regret speaking back to his uncle; a lifetime of belittling had trained the younger Montague to accept criticism of his own character; lewd innuendos about his former betrothed, however, would  _ not _ be tolerated.  

“You do not deny-”

Benvolio snarled at Damiano, and counted it a victory when he recoiled a step.  “My personal life is no longer  _ any _ of your concern. Nor is Rosaline, in any fashion.”

Damiano appeared dumbfounded for a moment, likely at his aggressive response, before his shock transformed into a wicked smirk.  “Ah,  _ there _ is the heir I was hoping you would become.  I knew I would instill some viciousness in you.”

Movement behind his the elder Montague caught Benvolio’s attention, and he discreetly signaled for the newcomers to wait.  Rosaline nodded her understanding, and grasped the prince’s shoulder.  Two guards hovered behind them.  It was time for the truth to come out...he would never find peace from his uncle otherwise.  “You simply do not understand, do you?  I never  _ wanted _ this.  Any of it.  I never wanted the title, the power...I would have  _ gladly  _ conceded my claim to Romeo without hesitation.” He paused, knowing that his next words would likely incite wrath he’d never experience from the man before him.  “Instead, you only considered what  _ you _ would have done if the roles were reversed.   _ You _ brought this darkness upon our family, our House...I cannot help but to wonder if our lives would have been different...if perhaps Romeo - and in turn, Juliet - would yet live, if-”

The rest of his thought was abruptly silenced by a vicious backhand across his face.  Even as his head snapped to the side and his ears rang, Benvolio raised a hand to stop Rosaline from lunging at his uncle.  The murderous look in her eyes when he glanced at her told him he’d guessed her reaction correctly.  His redirected attention confused his uncle, and the younger Montague watched as the color drained from his face as the older man turned.  The sting of smiling through his split lip did nothing to taint the satisfaction of finally overwhelming his uncle.  “Y-your Grace, I-” 

“You have the opportunity to tell your Sovereign the truth, uncle.  To clear your conscience and beg for mercy.   _ Tell him _ , or I will.”  As he gestured to Escalus, Benvolio watched horrified understanding dawn in the prince’s eyes.  

“You would not condemn the only family you have left,” Damiano hissed. A bitter laugh erupted from Benvolio’s chest before he could contain it, and he turned to face his uncle fully once more.

“Would I not?  When the only thing that my  _ blood _ has brought me is pain and loneliness? I’ll not be silent any longer.”  He raised a brow, giving one last opportunity for Damiano to confess, but the elder Montague only sneered.  With a heavy sigh, Benvolio turned to the Prince and Rosaline, the latter drawing his gaze and giving him the strength to finally speak the truth.  “When I was a boy, my cousin Romeo and I were sent to travel with my Aunt Tessa as she returned to her home in Scotland, to experience a new land.  Before we’d even made it, word came that my father was dead.”  Grief threatened to choke his next words, but he pressed on with determination.  “Until two days ago, we’d been led to believe that his death was due to illness; my aunt visited me in the dungeon to reveal the truth: he’d been poisoned for his title.  My father, you see, was the eldest Montague son.”  

Tears filled Rosaline’s eyes as he spoke, but abruptly widened and shifted to his uncle.  “Benvolio!” 

Damiano’s weight crashed into him from the side and drove him into the wall.  He gave a hoarse cry as his injury was jarred, and was grateful that the guards were quick to pull his uncle away.  The elder Montague struggled fiercely, the younger watching with sad eyes and pained breaths as he righted himself.  “It is my hope that the Prince, Rosaline and I, together as the next generation of leaders in this city, will be able to bring the peace as none of our predecessors ever could...because  _ none _ of us care for the money or glory.  We  _ love _ our city...we want to see it restored to the greatness it once knew...no matter  _ what _ it takes.  We can give them something different than what they’ve known...something different than a leader whose default, even after the truth has been revealed, is to try and eliminate any threat to his power.”

“Take him to the dungeon immediately, and send the physician back to my chamber!” Escalus ordered sharply.  Damiano Montague’s struggles increased and he began to mutter threats to his nephew.  Benvolio, though, could not understand them over the roar of blood rushing in his ears.  As soon as his uncle was out of sight, he sagged back against the wall.  Painful throbs drew his attention to the fact that the wound at his side was reopened and bleeding once more, but trembling hands on his face stopped him from looking at it.

“Look at me,” Rosaline insisted, the near-panic in her eyes matching the pitch of her voice.  “Can you walk on your own?”  Her grip slid down to his elbows, and Benvolio took hold of her forearms as he straightened himself once more.  When he stepped away from the wall, his legs shook and darkness encroached on his vision.  “Slowly...easy breaths.  Lean on me.”

“Ever...the bossy one, Capulet,” Benvolio gritted out through clenched teeth, even as he complied with her direction.  Escalus wordlessly eased himself under his arm opposite Rosaline.  Benvolio glanced at the prince.  “Are you well enough to exercise your injury so, Your Grace?”

“It seems I owe you much, Signor Montague.  An apology is not the least of it.  I allowed my emotions to cloud my rational thought, and you very nearly paid the price.  Please forgive me.”  

Shock froze Benvolio’s tongue for a long moment, and if the tightening of Rosaline’s grip on his arm was any indication, she shared the sentiment.  Perhaps his hope for the future of their city was within reach after all.  “Count Paris was quite thorough with covering his tracks, Your Grace; you were doing what you thought was best for Lady Rosaline and Verona.  I certainly cannot fault you for that.”  The prince watched him for a moment, as though assessing his sincerity, and then nodded solemnly.  They made their way back to his quarters, in a reflection of the moments after the attack, and Escalus led them to his own bed.  

The Montague groaned softly as he was eased onto his back.  Rosaline laced their fingers together, and surprised him by stroking sweat-matted hair away from his forehead.  When he looked up he found her kneeling beside the bed.  The physician entered and immediately got to work, though Rosaline’s attention kept him distracted.

“Forgive me, milord, but this will likely hurt. Your wound has reopened, and I must clean it.”  Benvolio nodded, and dropped his head back against the mattress with a steadying breath.  Rosaline continued to card her fingers through his hair, and her voice in his ear was a soothing balm as the physician worked.  She whispered reassurances to him until the wound was re-bandaged and Benvolio thanked the physician.

“It is time that Isabella and I begin rebuilding our city.  Rest, Benvolio...we will discuss the issue of your Lordship once things have settled.”  Benvolio winced at the reference to his uncle’s betrayal, but nodded gratefully.  Escalus bowed his head to both of them and stepped out, leaving Rosaline and Benvolio alone.  The latter took a moment to gather his wits before speaking.

“You chasing after me seems to have become something of a habit, Capulet.” 

“Then perhaps you should stop leaving me behind, Montague.”  He stared down at her, not daring to hope that he understood her implication correctly.  Rosaline studied his face and smiled tenderly.  He inched himself over to make room for her to sit on the bed beside him as she stood, and Rosaline settled her hip against his side comfortably.  Featherlight fingers slipped beneath the collar of his shirt, and her palm was warm over his heart.  “Forgive me if my...distance earlier left you unsettled.”

“W-we are no longer betrothed, milady.  You need not explain yourself to me.”  Her smile morphed into a bemused smirk, and Benvolio bit down on the inside of his cheek.  What did she want from him?

“Must you always be so self-sacrificing and noble,  _ Lord _ Montague?” Her free hand settled onto his cheek and she leaned in until they shared breath.  “Escalus deserved to hear the truth from me before I flaunted it before his eyes. And so, after you left, I sent the Princess and their steward away.”  Anticipation,  _ hope _ sent his heart racing as her expression softened, and the gentle stroke of her fingers over his chest let him know that she felt it.  “And yet, he already knew my decision.”

“Your decision, Capulet?” His voice was scarcely louder than a whisper, as though he was afraid the moment would shatter.

“Aye, my lord... _ you _ .  We might no longer be bound by the Crown’s decree...but what of our own?”  Surely he had not heard her correctly...he is drawn from his thoughts when her fingers smooth out the crease of his disbelief from his forehead.  “You truly doubted my feelings for you?”

Benvolio shook his head, guilt weighing down his stomach.  “ _ No _ , sweet Rosaline…I feared that the Prince had made the decision for you...that you had accepted his choice.”  He turned his head to press a kiss to her palm.  “Forgive me, milady.”

“No...the only one to blame is your cursed uncle,” she growled.  Benvolio canted his head up at her in question. “He is the reason you have difficulty believing that you are worthy of my love.   _ He _ is the reason you would sooner believe my words to you before you went to battle were easily overcome by the Prince, than you would believe that I could refuse him and choose  _ you _ instead.”  Rosaline rested her forehead against his, and Benvolio was helpless to resist the desire to tug her closer.  Without hesitation, she surprised him further by situating herself with her knees bracketing his hips.  The weight of her settled on top of him threatened to undo the Montague, and he cradled her face with both hands to keep himself from losing all control.  “Hear me now, Benvolio Montague:  _ I love you _ .  No one in this world knows my heart as you do...no one in this world  _ hears _ my heart as you do.  I love you, and I will prove to you that you are worthy of that love everyday.”

Overwhelmed by her declaration and vow, Benvolio could do nothing but pull her down to capture her lips in a heated kiss.  Her smile against his mouth was infectious, and he knew that if not for the wound limiting his mobility, he would not be able to restrain himself from showing her one of the many ways he intended to return the favor.  He breathed his own vow against her skin from her jaw to her chest between kisses, and only stopped when his body demanded a brief respite.

“You need to rest, my love...we will be free to carry out our promises soon enough.”  She eased herself off of him, but instead of returning to her original perch, she settled against the headboard on his other side, and encouraged him to rest his head in her lap.  Benvolio was more than happy to accommodate her direction, and practically purred when she skimmed her nails lightly over his scalp.

“Mmm, is that so?”

“I believe we have waited long enough, don’t you?  The Prince owes us that much.”  He hummed his agreement with a smile at her own tired voice, and quickly surrendered to the pull of sleep once more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm going to stop beating up on poor Ben soon!! I can't help it!! I blame Wade for portraying such a rich character. I've got a little bit more emotional suffering coming up, but it's more of a cathartic release than anything...anyways, I hope you like, sorry it took so long! please let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

As she approached the very same cell Benvolio had occupied just days before, Rosaline shuddered and had to remind herself that he was safe back at House Montague.  He no longer awaited execution...he’d been cleared of all accusations leveled against him.  She’d seen him back to his home... _ his _ villa now, though the transfer of title and power had not yet been formally made...before excusing herself under the guise of seeing her sister.  She  _ would _ see Livia... _ after  _ making this brief stop first.

Damiano Montague looked up as the guard led her to him. The same guard, she noted, that she’d bribed to allow her to see his nephew.  “L-Lady Rosaline!  Thank the Lord you have come, perhaps you will be able to speak sense to Benvolio!  The Prince will surely execute me if he does not rescind his accusations!”

Fury burned her cheeks, and Rosaline took a calming breath before speaking.  “Your nephew is a good and  _ honorable _ man, Signor Montague.”  He flinched at the informal title...one small victory.  “Despite his upbringing, he grew into a kind and gentle soul...seeking to love and be loved above all else.  He would far sooner offer his hand to help someone up than raise it to harm even an enemy.  He is the best man I know... _ despite you _ .”  The man, staring at her dumbfounded, opened his mouth to speak, but Rosaline silenced him with a glare.  “I will never hope to understand how you could have deprived a hurting boy affection, security... _ love _ .  I cannot  _ fathom _ how you justified to yourself  _ abusing him _ day after day.  I am sure I will never know the true extent of what you did to him...and yet.”  An affectionate smile curled her lips.  “And yet, he would not see you dead.  Your nephew requested that the Prince stay your execution...that he allow you to live out your days in this prison.  In spite of all the grief you brought to him, he refuses to see the last of his blood killed.  Make no mistake, though, Damiano.”  She stepped closer to his cell, all pretense of nicety gone in an instant.  “So long as there is breath in my body, I will do whatever it takes to ensure he does not suffer another moment by your doing.  You  _ failed _ in every attempt to break him; instead, he became the 

Lord your House truly deserves...he became the man I imagine  _ his father _ would have raised him to be.”  Her proud smirk left Damiano withering before her.  “I suppose that means you have failed in  _ every way _ ...even the murder of your brother could not hinder his influence on his rightful heir.  And where his blood failed him day after day,  _ I  _ will honor your nephew with the love and devotion he so desperately deserves.  He will have the  _ family _ you tried to take from him, and  _ he _ will lead House Montague to a greatness that you could never have hoped to achieve.  Goodbye, Singor.  You shall not see either of us again.  May God have mercy on your soul.”

Before Damiano could gather his wits to form a reply, Rosaline turned and left the dungeon without a second glance.  She knew there was a chance that Benvolio would be displeased with her visit to his uncle, but she could not bring herself to care; if anyone deserved a champion, it was him, and Rosaline would fill that role for the rest of her life.  Every word she’d spoken was true, though he would never speak most of them on his own behalf.  

* * *

By the time Rosaline made it out of the dungeon and to House Capulet, Livia had gone off in search of her sister, to House Montague according to their uncle’s new steward. With an affectionate grin, Rosaline directed the carriage to follow after Livia and hoped that her loved ones would not panic upon realizing that she did not make it to her destination.

“Mauricio, is my sister here?”

The Montague steward bowed to her respectfully, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.  “Yes, milady.  One of the men stationed at the Prince’s dungeon reported that you had stopped there before returning to House Capulet...he arrived moments before Lady Livia, so she chose to wait here for your return.”

Rosaline chuckled softly.  “Well, it is better that they know I am alive, I suppose….thank you, Mauricio.  Is he where I left him?”  The steward nodded, and bowed to her again as she excused herself.  The Capulet made her way to the library...one he’d told her had been off-limits to him while his uncle ran the House, but one that had the best lighting for his sketchwork.  She’d been unspeakably proud of him for claiming the space for the passion his uncle had tried so hard to smother, and secretly hoped that someday they might share quiet moments together there.  As she approached the room, the voices of the two most important people in her life drifted to her, and Rosaline could not help but hesitate and listen.

“I cannot help but feel like a fool for trusting him,” Livia murmured bitterly.  Oh, what Rosaline wouldn’t give for her sister to return to the innocence she’d known before Paris fell into her life.

“For all his crimes and faults, milady...Count Paris truly  _ loved you _ to the best of his ability.  He meant to keep you safe...and to give you the life of a Princess...because he cherished the light and love in your heart. I pray that you may find some comfort in that; and I pray that you might forgive me for taking his life.” 

“F-forgive you?  My lord, you saved Verona... _ you  _ brought us peace!”

“I also made you a widow, milady...my actions caused you great pain,” Benvolio pointed out.  Tears filled Rosaline’s eyes at the grief in his voice, and she could bear it no longer.  As she stepped into the doorway, though, she watched Livia wrap her arms around his neck.  The shock was clear on his face, but he only hesitated for a moment before returning the embrace whole-heartedly.  A single tear slid down his cheek, and Benvolio squeezed his eyes shut

“You have done more for my sister and me than we shall ever be capable of repaying.  Whether he loved me or not, Paris was  _ not _ a good man...you freed me from what I am sure would have been a truly difficult life.”

“It is what  _ true _ family does,” Rosaline whispered as she stepped into the room.  Benvolio’s eyes turned to her in surprise, exasperation warring with relief in their depths. “It warms my heart to see you bonding...truly.  In light of all that has happened, I feared it would influence your views of one another.”

“My wayward sister returns!” Livia exclaimed with exaggerated surprise as she drew away from Benvolio.  

“I was not  _ wayward _ , Livia, I was-”

“Making an unannounced visit to the dungeon, yes...it has been a habit of yours of late.”  The smirk that he was failing to conceal gave her reassurance that he was not angry with her.

“One that I have no intention of repeating, my lord, so you would do well to keep yourself out of trouble for awhile, hmm?”

Benvolio’s withering look brought a smile to Rosaline’s face, and she stepped further into the room to hug her sister.  “I shall do my best, beloved, though you and I know all too well how little that tends to matter in this city.”

“ _ Beloved _ ?” Livia echoed, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.  Rosaline felt her cheeks warm and bit her lip.  As she stepped around her sister, peace settled her heart.  Benvolio canted his head, and she knew without a doubt she’d made the right choice.  The tenderness and affection staring back at her promised that he would follow her lead.  The gentle touch at her waist assured that he would stay by her side, come what may.  She settled against his side comfortably, facing Livia with a confidence that could only come from the man holding her.

“Aye...beloved.  Livia-”

“You need not explain anything to me, sweet sister...I can see all that I need to know.” She smiled to both of them and ducked gracefully out of the room.  Rosaline couldn’t help but giggle, turning and pressing her face into Benvolio’s neck.  His own chuckle rumbled in his chest, and his smile pressed into her hair.

“It feels so strange,” she whispered against his skin, earning her a shudder in response.

“What is that?” he murmured, twirling a curl around his finger with a lazy smile on his face.  Rosaline reached up and traced it, empowered in the knowledge that she was the cause of the most relaxed, contented smile she’d ever seen grace his handsome face.

“To truly mean it when I call you  _ beloved _ .  To tell my  _ sister _ that you are my beloved.”  Her hand settled over his cheek and drew his face closer to hers. 

“And if I were to truly mean it when I call you fiancee?” She drew back just enough to meet his eyes.  His lazy smile had transformed into his most charming, hopeful grin, and she knew she was lost for him.  With the hand that had been in her hair, Benvolio reached into his doublet and pulled out a beautiful ruby ring.  “This belonged to my mother...so what do you say, Capulet? Will you  _ willingly _ bind yourself to a Montague?”

“Not _a_ _Montague_ , Montague…” Question flickered in his eyes for an instant, before understanding dawned in his eyes and then he was beaming at her. The hand on his jaw slid into his hair, and drew him down once more until her lips barely brushed against his.  “ _You_.”  

This kiss was far different from the ones they’d shared in the past.  All reservation vanished, and Benvolio was possessing her very soul.  His fingers dug into her flesh, his tongue stroked into her mouth and left her weak-kneed.  Carefully, Benvolio eased her backwards until her thighs pressed into something...a desk, she realized, when she reached out to feel the surface.  With a smirk, she broke the kiss so that she could sit atop it and watch him through her lashes.  He surprised her by drawing her left hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the ring finger.  Blue eyes held her entranced as he slid his mother’s ring over her knuckle.  

“My beloved...my  _ fiancee _ .”  Benvolio guided her hand back to the desk, and did the same with her other hand.  Strong, sure fingers carded through her curls and guided her head back.  Rosaline wasn’t sure what he was doing, but she was pliant to his touch; not even Escalus had garnered such unconditional trust, and she couldn’t help the thrill of excitement knowing they would not be interrupted this time.  Her breath escaped her in an airy sigh when he latched onto her throat and sucked gently.  The wet heat of his tongue followed, and Rosaline reached up to cradle the back of his head.

“Ah ah,” he chastised against her skin, the puff of breath across her damp skin making her shiver.  Teeth nipped at her skin and drew a whine, but he didn’t relent.  Benvolio pressed her hand against the desk once more and only withdrew when he was sure that she would leave it there.  “Please, my love...no touching.”  The nod she gave may have seemed somewhat desperate, but she could not bring herself to care; particularly when he resumed his work. The further down her neck he moved, the closer to her chest, the farther back Rosaline leaned.  Benvolio chuckled when she adjusted her hands and in turn arched her chest towards him, and he hesitated when his lips found her pulse.  “You are exquisite, Capulet...when we kissed in the dungeon, I dared not hope that it was anything more than goodbye.  Yet here we are, our lives truly our own for the first time.  When we were first bound by the Prince’s decree, I could not have dreamed that you would give yourself to me, that I would do the same...that  _ I _ would be the cause for your racing heartbeat.  I love you, Rosaline.”

“And I you, Benvolio...but if you would, milord…” He distracted her for a moment, nuzzling his nose against hers affectionately.  “I would rather make the most of this time  _ without _ words, if we-” He swallowed her giggles in a possessive kiss, fingers tightening in her hair and drawing a low moan that had him grinning wickedly.  

“Of course,  _ milady _ ...as you wish.”  Rosaline raised a curious brow at him as his hands moved down her body, bold and steady as they moved along the skirt of her dress over her hips, only stopping once they reached her knees.  Despite the confidence he exuded, Benvolio’s eyes searched hers, waiting for permission.  Warmth and affection bloomed in her chest, and she nodded.  His gaze snapped to her mouth when her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and his fingers fisted in her dress.  

With considerable visible effort to rein in his enthusiasm, Benvolio drew her skirt up inch by torturous inch.  When Rosaline clenched her own fists in frustration and dropped her head back, he took the opportunity to return his attention to the heated skin of her chest and shoulders.  Once her skirts were over her knees, featherlight touches ignited fire along her thighs and left her gasping for breath.  She curled against him, pressing her temple against his jaw. “Ben…”

“What was it you said about words, sweet Rosaline?” His touch became more sure, and suddenly she didn’t know which way was up.  She could only follow his guidance as he nudged her knees open with his own, could only comply when his hands took hold of her hips and scooted her closer to the edge of the desk...could only hiss a breath through her teeth when the movement brought them flush against one another.  Without the layers of her dress acting as a barrier, the new, intense friction threatened to drown her.  Desperate for a moment to reorient herself, Rosaline squeezed Benvolio’s bicep, and was grateful when he understood what she needed immediately.  “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed, and then rolled her eyes at the smug pride that glinted in his eyes.  “I was simply...caught off guard.”

“Mmm,” Benvolio hummed, arrogance melting into affection as his hands came up to frame her face.  He pressed gentle kisses to her forehead, cheeks and nose before returning to her lips.  “It can certainly be overwhelming when you experience it for the first time.  Would you like to stop?”  Where she expected teasing, Rosaline only read genuine concern, and all of her hesitation dissipated.

Rather than responding, she released his arm to brace herself on the desk again.  Benvolio canted his head, a slow grin brightening his handsome features with a look that she could only describe as awe, as she curled her legs around his hips and hooked her ankles together.  This time, when his hands dropped to her hips once more and took firm hold, he pulled her against him slowly, intentionally, easing the friction to something deliciously sweet.  Warmth pooled between her legs, a smoldering ember stoked with each touch. His lips found the slope of her shoulder, and a moan vibrated against her skin.

Despite their difference in experience, Rosaline felt somehow empowered by the knowledge that he was just as affected as her.  Leaning her weight into her arms, Rosaline allowed her body to move with his; as in learning a new dance, she closed her eyes and awaited his lead, responding to the give and take, push and pull of his hands and his hips. When she found the rhythm of his movements and arched up into him in perfect time, an arm locked around her waist and teeth bit down into her shoulder, and Rosaline gave a soft cry of surprise.

Benvolio’s weight pressed against her chest, and he pressed kisses against her reddened skin as if in apology, but still he did not let her go.  He took a step backwards, out of the cage of her legs and creating space between them that Rosaline ached to erase, but his arm remained firmly around her.  “Forgive me, my love...if we do not stop now…”

“And yet I find myself terribly tempted to plead we continue,” Rosaline confessed breathlessly.  His eyes closed and his jaw clenched at her words, and she immediately reached out to stroke his face.  “You are a far better man than you believe yourself to be.”  One hand moved down to his side, lifting his shirt to check the bandages there.  “I thank God for returning you to me, for protecting you through all of this, and for bringing us together despite ourselves.  How do you feel?”

“Well enough to marry my beautiful bride as soon as the Prince will allow,” he growled in her ear, stoking the embers inside her once more.  She giggled and pressed him back far enough to see his face.  “I mean it, Rosaline...if he agrees, I will marry you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is so dreadfully far away, milord…” 

Benvolio bit his lip with an affectionate grin and brushed a stray curl from her face.  “Would you have me fetch him now?  Say the word, milady, and I shall.”

Rosaline giggled, and wrapped her arms around his neck.  Benvolio’s own arms held her around her back, and he turned to ease her off of the desk and onto her feet.  In that moment she felt safer than she could ever remember.  His warmth, his strength, his scent all wrapped around her like a blanket, and the world around them fell away.  “Tomorrow,” she breathed contentedly.  “For today, my love, simply hold me.”


End file.
